Black Pearl
by Begonias
Summary: "You don't get it," Ponyboy moans, pale face bright in stark contrast to the lingering darkness. "You don't understand." Oh, Pony's wrong about that one. He understands, alright.
1. Introspection

**A/N: **I don't know if this has been done before. Part of me doubts it. Don't know what exactly brought this on. Just a spur-of-the-moment one-shot. Should it stay a one-shot? Or should I expand on it? You tell me, please. Reviews are always appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Drug use. Language. Pardon typos.

* * *

**Black Pearl**

**by Begonias**

* * *

"You don't get it," Ponyboy moans, pale face bright in stark contrast to the lingering darkness. "You don't understand." Oh, Pony's wrong about that one. He understands, alright.

Soda rubs his eyes, feeling the tension knot in his forehead. Jesus Christ. Not this, anything but this.

"What the hell?" Sodapop asks in raw incredulity, rubbing his face in disbelief. "How could you...? How did you...?" He's at a loss for words. This is a scenario Sodapop Curtis never imagined being in. It was one of the last things he'd ever suspect his little brother_—_his smart, college-bound little brother_—_to do. It hurts so goddamn much.

"You were gone, Soda," he begs. His voice cracks. He's so fucking high on God-knows-what, and Soda isn't even sure he _wants_ to know. "You were in 'Nam, and I had no idea whether you were dead or alive I didn't know what to do! And now that you're back...I just...wanted an escape."

"Oh, so drugs were the way out?" His voice is hard. "That's no excuse," Sodapop spits in a way that is so un-Soda-like. He wipes his face; he's so pissed off he can't see straight. "You know that. Ponyboy...come on..."

Ponyboy gives a sob and Soda feels himself tense, because, God help him, he feels some of the unhinging anger fade, replaced by an underlying sadness. Because Pony's had a rough time too, and Sodapop and Darry haven't even paid attention to him; haven't even acknowledged his struggles_—_like the fact that he hasn't eaten and he has barely slept at all since Soda's return a few weeks ago. "What was I supposed to do? I don't have any friends...they're all gettin' drafted, they're all dead. I can't do nothin' without killin' people." He swallows, and it seems like it takes every muscle in his body to do it. He lethargically moves his head up and says, "I didn't mean for it to go this far."

Part of Soda wants to laugh_—_the extremely bitter part of him that wasn't there before he went to Vietnam.

Didn't mean for it to go far, he says. Huh. No one means for it to go far.

Soda realizes then how lucky Ponyboy is that it was _Soda _who found Ponyboy, drugged to the gills in a half-catatonic state. Pony was at Steve's house, exactly where he expected him to be. Steve hasn't been the same since he got back, has ridden the dragon too much, but Ponyboy just insists on helping _everyone. _Even the ones who can't be saved.

Pony looks like shit, Soda notices. Jesus, he feels bad for him. He wants to fucking _kill _Steve for giving this shit to Pony; for planting the absurd idea in his head that drugs will make him feel better. In the blackness surrounding Sodapop's room, Pony lies on the bed.

"Just...what the _hell_, Ponyboy?" Sodapop is struggling to grasp this situation. "How could you do this us? To Darry?"

"I don't care because I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore," Ponyboy chokes, which causes Soda's head to shoot up. "Jesus, I just don't know anymore."

Though his little brother is high off his ass, he's being the most honest he's been since Soda got back. "What...what do you mean?"

"I don't know what to do," Ponyboy sobs. "I don't know what to do to make my life any better."

"You can start by knocking the drugs off." Soda switches his voice to parental mode, anger and desperation replacing the undeniable sadness. "Fuck! That's not gonna make things better for you. You're a smart kid; I thought you'd know that."

"I know!" Ponyboy half-whispers, half-shouts. "I know! This was one of the first times, I swear."

Soda knows Pony is telling the truth, but he keeps going with, "Oh, really?" He raises an eyebrow, showing his suspicion.

"Yes, and oh, God, I'm so sorry, Soda," he says. "I'm so sorry. Please, just...oh, God..."

And then, Ponyboy leans over and promptly throws up all over the tiled floor. He loses all the composure he managed to gain as he starts to cry again, even harder. It's then that Soda notices his shaking hands, like an old man's with Parkinson's. His eyes shine unnaturally green. He looks awful, probably _feels _awful, and Soda just wants to hug his idiot brother and smack him all at the same time.

"Okay," Soda whispers; he knows this is part of the withdrawal. After all, it's probably been a while since Ponyboy's taken anything. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm so sorry," Pony keeps repeating to himself. "I'm so sorry."

Against his better judgement, Sodapop comforts him. "I know you are," he says sincerely, because he does. He knows the hard time Pony's gone through while he was in Vietnam and knows that his absence affected his kid brother as much as it did him. Sometimes he forgets that.

Because sometimes they forget that even at seventeen, Ponyboy's still a kid. A kid who's seen way too much, and Soda's so fucking sorry about that. He just wishes someone upstairs could cut them a break for once.

"Just know that I'm being way nicer than Darry's going to be when he finds about this."

"Thank you," he gasps. "Thank you. I don't deserve you, Sodapop."

"You're in trouble, Ponyboy. You're still in trouble_—_big time. But you need to rest for now." Efficiently, he leads Ponyboy (whose legs are shaking so badly he can barely walk) into the bathroom. Once in there, he orders Ponyboy to sit on the toilet. Tilting his head back, he wipes a rag down his face to clean him up. "I still can't believe this," he mumbles to himself. Soda just wants to cry.

And then Pony's cleaned up, and Soda leads him into his own room.

"You need to promise me, Ponyboy," Sodapop starts. "Promise me that you'll never do this again."

"I promise," he whispers. "Oh, glory, I promise."

He takes his word for it. It's the only thing he can do.


	2. White Rabbit

**A/N: **You guys rock my socks off. Really. Thank you so much for the reviews. You're all so rad.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, not even acting like I own. Wish I did, though.

* * *

**Black Pearl**

**by Begonias**

* * *

_The day Sodapop comes back is a day to remember._

_Sodapop's leaner and more muscular than he was before he left__—_it's something they he can see immediately. His eyes are darker, his face is more worn, but besides that, he's still Sodapop. 

_And he's got his demons, though Soda tries not to acknowledge them. Tries not to acknowledge the fact that he killed people; some innocent, some just there because__—_like him_—_were ordered to. 

_He steps off the plane and looks for his family, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. _

_He sees his kid brother first. He's tall now, taller than him; maybe even Darry. Definitely skinnier, too. He flies through the airport like the track star he is and flings himself into Soda's embrace. _

_And Soda melts. God, it feels so good to see the kid that many nights in the jungle he thought he'd never see again. _

_And when Ponyboy pulls him back, he is crying. He looks at Soda in a way that almost scares him__—_that horrible mixture of love and fear, as though he's afraid Sodapop will disappear again, will just blow away in the breeze and leave him behind. 

_But Soda would never do that__—_could never do that to the people he loves most in life. 

_"I missed you so much," Ponyboy cries. _

_"God, kid, you have no idea," Soda says to him, noticing that his little brother's eyes are almost as haunted looking as his own are. "I missed you so much." _

_Ponyboy's green eyes roam around Soda's face as though it's a coveted thing, like he feels as though that if he doesn't stop staring at him he'll be gone; will leave him again. _

_No one has ever made him feel as significant as Ponyboy has. No one has ever made him feel so special. Only Ponyboy can make such a useless greaser/soldier feel so goddamn good about himself. Because he's always the one to confide to; ever the understanding. Hell, his letters to Pony might have even been more in-depth than to Darry's because Pony deserves to know the truth._

_Soda's throat constricts as he pulls Ponyboy back in, rubbing his back and wincing at the protruding spine. "Glory, Ponyboy, don't Darry feed you?" He says it lightly, willing his voice not to break._

_Pony laughs, a gaspy breath that sounds more wet than happy. "Oh, thank God," Pony's saying. He smiles. "Thank God."_

_Sodapop smiles, too, because glory__—_Pony's here, he's tangible, and Two-Bit and Darry are rounding the corner now. He's never felt so good.

_Darry grabs him next, roughly, but Soda's almost glad about that because Darry's always been rough without meaning to be, and he's just glad that some things haven't changed. _

_"You're stranglin' me, Dar," Soda says, and Darry just seems to wither with relief. Relief that he's still so..._Soda_. _

_"Sorry," Darry replies, and his voice is breathy like he's on the verge of tears, which he probably is. "You have no idea, Soda...oh, man. I missed you." _

_"I missed you too, Darry." He's smiling through the tears; he's so happy to be back and can't wait to be home. 'Cause really, there's no place like home._

_He breaks out of Darry's grasp and then Two-Bit's standing next to him. _

_"Come on, man!" Two-Bit laughs. "Bring it in!" _

_Sodapop laughs along with Two-Bit. They hug, and Two-Bit's cackling in his ear like a loon. _

_"Man, we should have a party!" he says. _

_"Yeah," Soda says. But there's something missing. "Where's Steve at? Why ain't he here? He's okay, ain't he?" He knows that Steve got back a few weeks ago, but hasn't heard anything about it since._

_Two-Bit and Darry are hesitant. Ponyboy just stands there, unblinking._

* * *

"Uh, Darry?" Soda stands there sheepishly, just like that time he got caught lifting a hubcap off their neighbor's car, and when his mother's glare was staring him down. His mother always made him confess the truth, and she didn't even have to say anything.

Darry stands at the door, his shoulders tense, his body language showing how much he's aged too quickly over the years. Man, it's a shit life.

"Did you find him? Is he okay?" Darry asks hurriedly. He's already rushing to Pony's bedroom.

"Uh, Darry...I wouldn't, uh...go in there..."

"Why not?"

"He's...Well, he's just really tired right now."

Darry's voice conveys disbelief. "Tired?" he questions.

Soda nods. "Tired."

"He's not drunk, is he?"

Oh, God, Soda wishes he was. It would be just so much easier to deal with. Darry would lecture him a little and maybe ground him even at seventeen and then all would be forgiven. It happened to Pony at thirteen and it would probably happen again.

It's just so much worse. He doesn't even know what could happen if Darry finds out.

But Soda nods anyway. "He's...pretty out of it. I found him at..." Jesus, he's never been a good liar. That's always been Pony. "I found him at this party at some girl's house. I talked to some kids at the park saying they saw him there."

"You saw him at a party?"

He wishes Darry would stop giving him the third degree because he doesn't do real well under interrogation.

"Yep." He hates to lie, but he doesn't see another option. "Maybe we should just wait until the morning."

Darry nods. It'll have to do for now.

* * *

_"Guys? What's up with Steve?" _

_Ponyboy's voice breaks the silence__—_it's quiet, serious, just like it's always been. "Just tell him. He deserves to know. He'll find out soon anyway." 

_"Find what out?" He's getting angry now, and they're still not saying anything. "Tell me!" _

_He watches in horror as they all three back up in unison at the harshness in his voice. There's another thing about him that wasn't there before this fucking war. He just sometimes gets so angry at things. He can't control it, and he's afraid he'll end up lashing out at someone and ruining things forever. _

_"He's...well, he's real different, Soda," Ponyboy explains quietly, and he looks so sad. His eyes have dark bags under them, and Soda wonders how many sleepless nights his kid brother experienced while he was gone. _

_"Different..." Soda turns to face Darry, his eyes questioning. Turning back to Pony, he asks, "What do you mean, different?" _

_Pony's eyes flicker to Darry, looking for backup, as though he's internally saying _'help me out a little' _but Darry doesn't meet his eyes. Sodapop's curiosity is spiking with that__—_they're different now. Soda just can't figure out how.

_"I think it's drugs." Pony looks to the floor, almost as though he's ashamed. "I'm sorry, Soda."_

_"Sorry?" Soda snaps. "Well...what's wrong? We can fix it, right?" _

_"Buddy, we tried everything." Darry's voice is reassuring. _Thanks for finally joining the conversation, _Soda thinks bitterly, mad that they left Ponyboy to do the explaining and not even bothering trying to help him out; not even a little. _

_"Tried everything? What the hell does that mean?" _

_Pony looks like he wants to do nothing but curl up into a fetal position. Shit. _

_"You guys, can we _not _do this?" Two-Bit says. Sometimes Soda thinks Two-Bit's the most logical of them all. _

_"Yeah," Soda says, voice hushed. "Come on." He tries to keep the voice happy and joking again, not wanting them to know how upset he actually is about this whole situation, how much he wants to see his best friend again. He's considering going there later tonight. _

* * *

Soda watches his little brother sleep.

He doesn't look any better in rest, but then again, he's been looking pretty bad these days even lucid. They've all been looking a little run down these days.

And Sodapop feels some guilt. They haven't been paying attention to Pony, and in retrospect, in seems like he's been giving silent cries of help. Like the way he's been walking around like a zombie, always seeming to be on the verge of tears. Soda should have noticed it sooner.

And if Darry has noticed, he hasn't mentioned it, hasn't tried to do anything about it. Which makes Sodapop wonder.

And moments among Pony and Darry are awkward_—_Soda has no idea what happened between them but he intends to find out.

"You're lucky," he whispers to the silence. "But you're gonna have to tell him sooner or later."

Soda just hopes it's later rather than sooner.

* * *

_The first night back and it's a pretty good one. Darry makes his favorite food; even makes some of it blue, which makes him laugh. He forgot all about his tendency to color foods odd colors. _

_The house is exactly how he remembers, which he's so damn grateful to see. _

_And the little details make him remember. The hole in the wall where he and Dallas were roughhousing at age twelve and Dally got so mad he stabbed a pencil into the drywall. _

_Soda's father was mad, understandably, but Mom just laughed. She said the little things gave the house character._

_The dent in the plaster from when Darry was fourteen and reclined all the way back in Dad's rocking chair and knocked in a small indentation._

_Sodapop sits in one of the familiar, suddenly-more-comfortable-than-ever kitchen chairs and sighs happily. If he closes his eyes, he's a kid eating breakfast right before starting his early shift at the DX._

_Darry plops a plate of food in front of Soda._

_He stares at his plate; sudden warmth and happiness threatening to take over. He remembers how good it feels to have a real, delicious home-cooked meal. They were scarce in the military. _

_He's so engrossed in his food he doesn't notice Ponyboy's not sitting at the table. _

_"Come on, Ponyboy!" Darry shouts. "Dinner!" _

_Pony walks out, all gangly, long arms and legs taking up his frame. "I'm not that hungry," he says._

_"Well, you're going to eat." Darry's voice is unreasonably strict, and makes Soda inadvertently cringe on the inside._

_Pony just nods, like he's not even willing to fight back, and sits exhaustedly on the seat that resides by him. _

_Pony doesn't say anything. Just sits there, looking miserable, exhausted._

Looking back, that should have been some sort of clue.

* * *

**Bonus A/N: **Since this was originally intended to be a one-shot, the chapters will be a little shorter than if I had written everything else out beforehand. This story will be short_—_probably only about four or five chapters long.

Okay, seriously _DO NOT _assume that this is going to be some sort of Abusive!Darry story, because I can promise you, it's not. I know what direction this is going in and that's definitely not it.

Mostly, the next chapters will be about how the situation in chapter one came to be and then later the outcome of the situation.

Also, third person is an area I find difficult, so please point out any mistakes or ambiguity.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Please leave more!


	3. In a Flash

**A/N: **Wow, um. This took me a lot longer than I was hoping for. But I rewrote it a few times, so that's probably why. Here goes...it's pretty schmoopy, and I hope not cheesy, but I do find it necessary.

**Disclaimer: **The usual. Drug use, _heavy _language. I don't own _The Outsiders. _Please pardon typos!

* * *

**Black Pearl **

**by Begonias**

* * *

_Sodapop has been back for three days now, and wants nothing more than to see his best friend again.__  
_

_It's been forever since he's seen him, and even though they managed to keep slightly in touch with each other while in 'Nam, correspondence had proven to be a bitch; sometimes letters would get lost and other times they had nothing to write about._

_Well, isn't that just a fucking lie. They had everything in the world to write about. But there are some things you don't talk about, just silently acknowledge it. And neither of them wanted to accept the fact that their childhood best friends were being forced to hold weapons, kill people. That was probably one of the worst things about it, to Soda, at least._

_Sodapop sighs. He could never imagine Steve holding a gun, much less himself. It's just one of those things he finds hard to imagine. And though Stevie's always been a tough son of a bitch, it just ain't right. His hair didn't look right. That kid, the one with his big, greasy swirly hair; it didn't look right. His hair was to die for. And it looked wrong all chopped off like that._

_Soda wonders if the reason behind taking all their hair away is because that's the only thing left to give. They're baleful, those people. Sodapop can tell. He doesn't see why it's necessary to take your hair, too. It's like kicking a man when he's down._

_And nothing's right. Two-Bit's overly cheerful, Pony doesn't talk anymore, and Darry's just down right…different._

_And he hasn't made an effort to ask them about it. So far Soda's been smothered by questions, cautious glances, and an influx of "how are you?"s. And he's been too, understandably, wrapped up in himself to be paying attention to Steve, or Ponyboy, or…anyone._

_But he wants to see him now. And he's going to._

* * *

_After he goes he immediately regrets it._

_The first thing Soda notices when he gets to Steve's is the horrible condition the place is in. And while his house has always been a little rundown, they've managed to take care of it. This sends off small warning signs in his head, and part of him wants to turn back now._

_Sodapop doesn't knock, doesn't even think to knock because Steve's his best friend and he shouldn't care about that at all._

_His stomach sinks. Drug paraphernalia____—s_poons, needles, some other things Soda doesn't even know___—li_tter the floors and tables of his old friend's dilapidated house.

_"Christ," Soda whispers when he first sees Steve. He lies there, one arm dangling off the side of the couch and the other clutched almost protectively to his chest. "Steve," he says gently, not wanting him to flip out on him, because Sodapop would understand why he would. And he doesn't want to see that._

_"Fuckin'…" Steve's murmurs trail off. "Oh, shit!" he gasps after straightening himself up. "I thought you were the kid."_

_The dark bags under his eyes alarm Sodapop to no end. He just wants to throttle Steve, grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, all while figuring out what's going on. This ain't right. This isn't Steve Randle._

_"I'm back," says Soda quietly, mostly because he doesn't trust himself to speak any louder._

_"Good," Steve grunts. He's hocked up on something, something mean and bitter and Soda doesn't know what to do. "Glad you didn't bite the dust."_

_"Jesus." Exasperated, Soda runs a hand through his shorn hair. "You have a goddamn way with words, don't you, Stevie."_

_Steve grins some kind of eerie grin, and his teeth are in horrible shape. Soda's stomach does a flip flop. God, Steve'll be in dentures before he's thirty._

_"What the fuck are you doin'?" Sodapop shouts. He can't keep calm anymore. Jesus, what the fuck? What the fuck._

_"Wha's it look like?" he slurs in response. Soda's blood boils._

_"I'm back now! See?" He points at his face. "I'm back! I can help you, man."_

_Steve chokes out a distorted chuckle. "You sound like your kid brother," he muses. "Man, he'd say that all the time. 'I can help you.' Bullshit, that's what it is." Steve slouches back into the couch. Just when Soda thought he couldn't feel himself get paler, Steve says, "You know, I used to kind of admire the fact that he'd want to help everyone. He'd have so much faith in everyone."_

_Steve shakes his head. Says, "It's a goddamn shame. You just can't help everyone. And if he don't cut this shit out, he'll get his skinny ass killed one way or another."_

_"Shut the fuck up, Steve," Soda lashes out, feeling some of the familiar anger that wasn't there before 'Nam settling in his stomach._

_Steve goes on as if he didn't hear him. "And I always tell him, 'Grow the fuck up' and 'You can't help everyone' and he'd just shake his head and sit there. Stubborn bastard, that one."_

_Soda takes a shaky breath through his nose. Jesus, what the hell has Soda missed out on? How much a person can change. Because even when Sodapop tries really hard he can't fit the image on the Steve he remembers__—_the one who got him into auto mechanics, the one he used to go to the park with, and the one he'd fight alongside with in rumbles_—_onto this new, decrepit, pallor Steve. And that hurts.

_Sodapop takes a breath to compose himself. "Okay, okay, it's okay, Steve, 'cause we'll fight this together," he's rambling. "We'll get through this, we'll fight it. I'll help__—_"

_"Ha!" Steve erupts, his voice with an odd bitter tinge. "I hate to break it to ya, Sodapop, but I've fought enough to last a lifetime. I'm done, man. It's a shit life, and I'm done with it."_

_"Oh. Okay," Soda snaps, being uncharacteristically sarcastic. "Yeah, okay. That's fine." Soda leans closer to Steve's face and explodes with, "Are you kidding me? I hate to break it to you, Steve, but that's life. It ain't fair, no one's is, and you're just gonna have to get used to it. But drugs"__—_his voice breaks on that_—_"Drugs ain't the way out. You ain't a goner yet."

_"Ain't a goner yet," Steve mumbles to himself. His grin is coy, devilish. He's never sounded so wicked when says, "I was born a goner."_

_When Soda leaves, he goes in Steve's yard and throws up._

* * *

The sound of retching wakes Soda up.

And he shoots out of bed. Glancing at the clock, he sees it's early. Five AM.

"Ponyboy." He knocks on the door, grateful that Darry hasn't woken up yet. "Ponyboy open up."

He hears slow shuffling and then the door opens. Pony lies on the floor.

"You're lucky it's me in here and not Darry." Soda tries to say it almost jokingly, happy.

Ponyboy nods, miserable. His eyes are tear stained. "I'm so sorry, Sodapop," he whispers. "God, I can't…"

Sodapop sits next to him, leaning against the bathtub. He puts an arm around his kid brother, pulling him in to lean on him. "Hey, hey, not right now." After a pause, continues. "You know, no matter how stupid this is, I can't be mad at you." He looks down at Pony. "I'm not."

"You're not?" His voice is breathy and he looks even worse today than he did last night, if that's even possible. "How?"

_Because you've been a walking and talking corpse and I didn't even notice? _he thinks. "I, uh…let's just say I think you learned your lesson."

Pony nods, surprisingly vigorous, especially for him, who can barely lift up his head as it sags weakly into Sodapop's shoulder.

"You're still in trouble. Boy, are you in trouble." Sodapop shrugs. "But as of now, Darry thinks you're hung over. So, as of now, you're hung over. But we're gonna have to tell him."

"I'm sorry," Ponyboy mumbles. "You shouldn't be the one to have to clean up my messes. You just got back, and everything."

Soda smiles softly. "Nah, kid. It ain't bad. And that's my job, ain't it? To take care of my pain in the ass little brother?"

"You're the greatest." Ponyboy's shoulders shake, the only indication that he's crying. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I feel so bad."

"Do you mind telling me why? Why you would do this, kiddo?"

"I don't know," he replies, still leaning on Soda's shoulder. "I was at Steve's."

"I know."

"I don't really remember anything about it." He sighs, trying to control himself. His voice is monotone, exhaustion seeping through. "I don't remember anything except trying to talk to Steve. He, uh…he was on something, Soda. I don't know what."

"Heroin." Sodapop knows all about that. "It's the bad stuff. Real bad, kiddo."

"I don't know how he does it all the time, Soda. It was the most awful thing. I could never do it again."

"Had you done it before?"

"No. Almost. Steve told me it would make me feel better."

"Steve's a liar," he grinds out. He wants to kill him then. "A fucking liar."

"It ain't his fault," his rational kid brother says. "He's stoned all the time. Don't know what he's saying."

And then they sit like that, hunched in the bathroom, until the sun rises.

* * *

_They're at a grocery store, he and Pony._

_"I'm sorry," Ponyboy apologizes profusely, sounding too tired to be genuinely upset._

_"It's okay, honey," one of the store clerks says._

_Soda sidles up next to his brother, and Pony watches in horror at the mess he inadvertently created; a glass gallon of milk cracked all over the floor._

_"I'm so sorry." He's wide eyed, looking on the verge of a panic attack. "Oh, man," he whispers. "I'm sorry."_

_Soda makes an effort to help the lady out._

_"It happens a lot 'round here, sweetheart," she assures them both. "You don't have to worry."_

_"We'll pay for that." Sodapop tries to make it discreet, inconspicuous, not really wanting Pony to hear but that's just what he does._

_And when he does, his hands fly up to his face and he breathes deeply, alarming Sodapop to no end at how panicky he's getting. The girl seems oblivious._

_"Hey," he says to his little brother. "Ain't no use cryin' over spilled milk, am I right, Pony?"_

_Ponyboy tries to smile, his slightly crooked teeth only barely showing past his white skin and cracked, chapped lips._

_"Hey, calm down, alright?" His voice is gentle. "It ain't nothing."_

_Pony does that little half smile thing again._

_And it's most definitely not reassuring. There's something wrong, here. The only thing this experience has done has just pushed his thoughts forward, supported his theory._

_There's something not right here._

* * *

_Soda blinks against the nightmare that almost took over him._

_He's had them lately, but he hasn't been too alarmed. He's heard doctors talk about this thing called PTSD and so far it hasn't been too bad. Now he just knows what Pony used to go through._

_Hell, he still goes through it._

_And Darry's hovered, always making sure Sodapop's okay, always willing to stay in the room with him if his nightmares get too bad._

_He's been pretty thankful, though he's declined to that. He hasn't felt that it's come to that yet._

_And to be honest, there's a sinking feeling deep inside his gut that tells him Ponyboy needs more help than he does._

* * *

**A/N: **I have researched heroin side effects, but I'm no doctor.

Let me just say I'm blown away by the amount of feedback this story has gotten. Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy, lovelies!


	4. Revelations and Explanations (part one)

**A/N: **Wowzas. I'm so sorry for this wait. I'm such a crappy updater and person. Oh, well. It's 1:53 AM where I'm at and I just was in the mood to post this. Angst-a-riffic chapter ahead. Hope you enjoy; I've been sweating over this. Eek. Please tell me if I'm making them out of character.

**Disclaimer: **Cursing, angst, belongs to SE Hinton. Decent length chapter, I guess. But this was never really meant to have long chapters. Next chapter is the last, bt dubs. :-) I'll miss it. Pardon typos.

**This is chapter part one of two.**

* * *

**Black Pearl **

**by Begonias**

* * *

It's a balmy eighty-four degrees outside and Sodapop fans himself against the summer heat. You'd think Soda would be used to it by now, the heat—spending months in the dense, muggy foliage of the Vietnamese jungles really was awful. But no matter what, the heat just gets to him. Tulsa's known for its unpredictable weather patterns anyway. One day it could be snowing and the next it's like walking into a sauna.

Ponyboy lies spread out, yet curled inside on the couch, pale and sweaty. Darry goes to work, leaving Soda to watch out for Pony, who's been off and on sick all day. But it's okay; Soda doesn't mind looking out for his kid brother. In fact, there's nothing he would rather do.

Soda wishes he could pick up some more shifts at the DX. His boss was never known to be a major prick; he knows if he wanted to he could get his job back in an instant. After all, Sodapop and Steve were his best workers.

Sodapop remembers the times he and Steve worked together, and it ain't all sunshine and rainbows. They'd fight over dumb little things sometimes, like carburetors and who's got dibs on what girl, that whole fuckin' Soc and greaser mess. It all seemed so goddamn important when he was sixteen; so freakin' awful. But he'd give anything to have such petty little bullshit problems again. Because they don't even come close anymore.

Because when Soda was sixteen he didn't ever think he'd die. Sure, he knew everyone dies eventually and that his time would come just like everyone else's (hell, he experienced it first hand with his parents, Johnny, Dally, etc.), but he could never fathom that he could actually _die. _That one day he would just cease to _exist. _

Because he was young and free and happy once.

In that jungle, that _fucking _jungle, everything changed.

For the first time ever, he felt his mortality, the crippling little handicap that he could die any second.

The realization that he's just another useless little speck of creation. Unimportant. Will have made no change in this godforsaken hunk of rock we call a planet.

When he dies, no one will remember or care.

He won't live forever, even though sometimes it used to feel like it.

Whether it be from a bullet to the gut or getting nailed by shrapnel or a car accident or a fire, or even a goddamn heart attack, it could just _happen. _

He remembers when he was fifteen, bored out of his skull in school—before he dropped out. Mr. Aubuchon was goin' on about how everything happens for a reason.

Sodapop always thought that was bullshit.

Everything has a reason, a _because._ Everyone has motives for what they do. They don't just happen for no reason; that's one of the stupidest things he's ever heard (and with Two-Bit around, he has a lot to compare it to). Mr. Aubuchon's a bad teacher _because _he's an idiot, and vice versa. Sodapop's a bitter freak _because _of this war, this life. Pony tried drugs _because..._because...

Soda doesn't know. Because he was gone? Because of this war?

And how does everything lead back to this war?

Soda can't imagine a time without it.

How different his life could be, how wonderfully innocent (well, maybe not innocent. They were never innocent, even Pony) without it ever existing. How great and perfect.

And maybe while he's imagining highly improbable things he can imagine his mother and father never dying.

Sometimes when Sodapop tries real hard he can smell his father—the musk he wore and the scent of the leather interior of the car they were driving in when they got in the auto wreck—the wreck that changed everything.

And his mother always smelled of perfume and always sang as she walked around the house, always sang him and Ponyboy lullabies before they went to bed. Sometimes even Darry, too, even though he was a macho twelve year old, and didn't _need _his mother to be singing him songs before bed.

Soda always loved when she sang "You Are My Sunshine". Karen, his mother, even used to call him her little sunshine.

Sometimes Sodapop misses the way that he used to feel: his freedom, his _youth. _He feels robbed, cheated, tricked. He feels as though he's aged ten years through this whole experience.

But that's par for the course, Soda supposes.

Soda watches the even rise and fall of his little brother's chest.

It keeps his attention more than _The Dick Van Dyke Show. _

* * *

"Ponyboy." Sodapop shakes him awake. "Ponyboy, wake up. Darry'll be home soon."

"Great," he says quietly, hugging himself.

"Are you okay?" Soda asks. He doesn't know how to broach this kind of subject. Life has prepared him for a lot of things he never thought he'd need to be prepared for but one thing it didn't come with was a construction manual. He's just gonna have to be straightforward.

"I'm fine," he lies, but he looks a little better, so Sodapop lets him.

"Good." He sits beside Pony. "You're tellin' Darry tonight, ain't ya?"

At this, Ponyboy seems to shrivel up a little, his young, pale face crumbling, his shoulders sagging more prominently than originally thought possible. Soda watches as his demeanor cracks. "Do we have to?" he chokes, obviously knowing how serious the consequences are and how seriously _pissed _Darry's gonna be.

"I think we do," Sodapop mumbles, his voice a comforting drone to both of them. "He deserves to know."

"Does he?" snaps Ponyboy.

Sodapop can feel his eyes shoot open.

"What do you mean?" he hears himself ask.

"Nothin'," Pony says hurriedly, the sound of the screen door opening. He makes a beeline for his bedroom, but Soda grabs his arm before he can go. He shoots his younger brother a look: _it's you and me against the world, kid. _

He needs him to see that.

* * *

Darry makes dinner and doesn't even say anything about Pony's "hangover".

"Uh, Dar?" Pony's voice is small and cautious with shame. "I think we need to talk."

"Oh, we do." Darry's voice is calm but from the way he's slamming the pantry doors shows how mad he really is. "Listen, Ponyboy. I know you're seventeen now and that you're gonna be drinkin' sometimes but I told you to stay home from that party—"

"I gotta be honest with you, Darry." Soda watches wide-eyed as Ponyboy swallows nervously. Soda wants to take it all back, tell Pony to forget it, don't tell Darry 'cause he ain't gonna be nearly as understanding, but it appears as though this is what Pony wants too. "It—it wasn't...alcohol."

"What?" Darry turns around. "Then what the hell was it?"

Pony wipes at his face. Sodapop answers for him, maybe hoping to soften the blows he's inevitably going to get. "Now, Darry, it ain't exactly his fault..."

Darry ain't down for bullshitting. "What. The hell. Was it?"

"Heroin." Pony stares down at the table in obvious sorrow, shame, embarrassment. His self-hatred is almost downright palpable. "I, uh...got it from Steve."

Darry runs a hand through his hair, trying to grasp the hydrogen bomb that was just thrown at him. Trying to triage things as usual, 'cause that's what he always does. Over analyzes.

Sodapop makes sure he doesn't do that. He'd go crazy in a heartbeat, trying to evaluate this shit storm—it's a weakness both Pony and Darry share; they're more alike than they know.

He wonders how Darry does everything.

"What?" Darry doesn't sound mad. Just shocked. Hurt. Hell, aren't they all.

His oldest brother stands straight and tall, broad-shouldered. He paces anxiously. Pony bursts into tears.

"How..." Darry looks like he's inwardly counting to ten, a telltale sign that he's gonna blow, and it'll all be directed at Pony.

"Don't get too mad, Dar," Soda whispers.

"Don't get too mad?" Darry's voice rises. "Don't get too mad? Why the hell are you stickin' up for him, when he's done somethin' like this?"

"Dar, you gotta understand," he pleads, because he's starting to see why Ponyboy did it in the first place, and that's what scares him.

"There's nothin' for me to _understand_, Sodapop!" He turns to Pony. "I thought you were better than this, kiddo. I thought I did better than this." He shakes his head in wounded disbelief. Pony just has his head in his hands, shoulders shaking from crying. "You could have just _talked _to me, Pony. Instead, you—you turn to...drugs?"

Pony's head shoots up faster than Soda's ever seen. He's surprised he doesn't hear bones popping. "Oh, don't say I could talk to you," he spits, voice sounding ever so wicked. "Don't you even say that."

"What?" Sodapop can't help but gasp out at the sudden tenser change in the conversation.

"I know it was hard on you, too, Darry," Pony says, and he looks like he's gonna cry again. "I do. I know it was. But I needed you here, too! And you never were!"

Soda's head swivels back and forth from Darry to Pony. "Okay," Soda breathes. "Somethin' tells me I've missed out on a lot."

"Don't even say I could have talked to you! I _tried_ talking to you!" Pony's rambling. "You shoulda been here when all you wanted to do was go to the bar after work." He gives Soda a hurt, almost accusatory look. But Soda knows the accusation isn't towards him. "Bills went unpaid, our_ power _went out once_, _Soda."

Pony's eyes have the most life Soda's seen since he got back. Darry just sits, stunned and speechless. He and Darry both. Ponyboy's got the floor for once.

"I miss the days where you'd never touch a drop of the stuff." Pony laughs, forced and bitter. "Seems so long ago." He shakes his head. "It started a few weeks after you left. He'd go to that dive bar off 55, usually just once a week. I was fine with it. He needed a release, and if that was how he was gonna get it, fine. I was fine with it.

"But then...it just got worse. He'd go every night of the week and wouldn't come back until late at night. I remember seeing that big red envelope stuffed deep in the back of the cabinet. Overdue, unpaid, the likes. I didn't know what to do."

"Holy shit," Soda says on an exhale, wanting to cry.

"I can be mad all I want, but I'm really not," Pony says. "Because I get why he did it now, I think."

His little brother looks expectantly at Darry, as though waiting for him to say something. "Oh, feel free to join the conversation," Ponyboy says, trying desperately to regain his faltering composure. Darry's lips flap open uselessly like a fish on land's.

"I don't know what to say," Sodapop finds himself saying. "I—I just..."

The fight dies out in Ponyboy's eyes. He sags weakly into the chair next to Soda."I'm sorry, Soda," his little brother states softly. His voice is thick with unshed tears. "You just got back—you shouldn't have to clean up all our messes. Lord knows you've been doin' it long enough."

Soda swallows a lump deep in his throat. Jesus, this kid has more on his mind than most people.

Happy fucking homecoming, Private.

* * *

Thanks so much for the reviews! Really means a lot to me. :-)

Darry's behavior will be much more explained in the next chapter, I promise. **This chapter is part one of two. **

Also, I'm pretty sure I stole the last line from another Outsiders fic somewhere but I don't know which one. I just don't think I'm witty enough to come up with that line.


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